In Another Life
by Storiesfromthebluebox
Summary: What if Eddie and Richie DID consummate their feelings during the summer the Losers were fighting Pennywise? What if they had one sleepover in the clubhouse they never told the others about? And how did they get separated after that summer? How would it all play out 27 years later? This is my take on what could have happened if Richie and Eddie had acted on their feelings.
1. Chapter 1: A Night in the Clubhouse

_"Get the fuck out of here, faggot."_ The words were ringing through his ears again as Richie stopped by the arcade. There was talking and laughter drifting through the open door. A few days earlier, he'd run out of this door, away from Henry and his pals, away from the stares. It hadn't been the first time he'd heard the word 'faggot', but it had never been directed at him before. It had been enough to keep him away from the arcade for at least a few days.

It wasn't even about how he had never even once considered going steady with a girl, and even the thought actually just made him want to gag. Or when his sister had made him watch 'Pretty in Pink' last summer, he had found himself vastly more intrigued by Andrew McCarthy than by Molly Ringwald.

There was something, something recent, that had been slowly eating at him throughout the summer. A little teasing voice in the back of his mind that he wished he could just shut up.

He stood at the entrance of the arcade, hesitant. The few regulars that hung out there every day had been there that day, and they had heard him being called that word. There had even been a couple of his classmates. But it seemed quiet today. Most of the people in Derry were at the Canal Days Festival. Still on his guard, he took a step inside.

"Hey, Henry, there's that faggot boy again!"

Richie turned around quick. He had always been fast, and he reckoned he could make a run for it. But before he could get far, a hand violently grabbed him by his shirt. Henry towered above him, using the same foot to put out his cigarette and then stomp on Richie's.

"Where do you think you're going, faggot boy?"

"Ouch! Keep your fucking hands off me!" Richie tried to yank his foot away, and as a result, staggered backwards. His glasses slid off, and just as he grabbed them to push them back onto his nose, someone grabbed him by his navel. Patrick. Shit.

"Found a new boyfriend yet, Richie?" Patrick made some kissing noises.

"Shut up." But even Richie could hear the quiver in his own voice. God, he was such a pussy. He kept his eyes on the floor. His cheeks burned against the frame of his glasses.

"What did you do with my cousin, huh?" Henry's face was fuming. "If you put even one finger on him…"

"I didn't do shit to your cousin."

"You're not fooling me. Did you put your dirty faggot hands on him? Or anyone else in this town?" Richie shook his head. Patrick shook him. "Hm?"

Even if Richie had wanted to, there were no wisecracking jokes in his brain to make in this moment. He swallowed. Then he saw Henry reach into his pocket. Upon seeing the knife, it was like Richie's tongue reactivated.

"Wait! If you use that on me, and you're right about me, my blood could be chuck-full of AIDS. Is that what you want, asshole?"

"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!" He was close enough to Richie's face for his spit to land in his face. The knife met his flesh and ripped through his shirt. Pain flashed through Richie and he screamed. _I should have kept my mouth shut._ A man with a dog shuffled by. He didn't say anything, but kept his eyes intently on the boys.

"Come on, Henry, we'll get him later," Patrick said quietly.

Henry dangled the knife in front of his face one last time. "I'll kill you, you little faggot boy", he hissed.

Richie watched as they ran away and darted out of view. He looked down at his ripped and torn shirt, and lifted it with shaking hands. There was a big scratch right above his waistline. Fuck. He would have to get home before any of the others would see him. There was no way he wanted to explain this. If he'd known that kid at the arcade the other day was Henry's cousin, he wouldn't have thought about touching him with a ten-feet pole. He _definitely_ wouldn't have paid for him to play another round of that stupid game.

"Holy shit, are you okay?" A familiar squeaky voice. It was Eddie who stood before him, bike in his hand, all brown eyes of panicky concern. Judging from his stuffed backpack, he was probably on his way home from his daily trip to the pharmacy. Little flutters whirled through Richie's stomach.

"I'm fine. It's just a scratch." He started to walk.

"What did they do that for?" Eddie just followed him.

In an attempt to seem casual, Richie shrugged. "I don't know. Who knows what having the tiniest dicks on the planet can do to your brain."

Eddie rolled his eyes. "I mean," Richie continued, clearing his voice and straightening his glasses, "if they saw mine, it wouldn't surprise me if theirs would spontaneously fall off from shock."

"Can you stop being so disgusting, for once!" Eddie's voice was at top-squealiness today. "I just wanted to know if you were hurt."

"Oh, you don't know Tiny Dick Syndrome? Your mom didn't teach you about that?"

"Stop, that's not even a real thing," Eddie said, but his eyes were wide open with dread. Richie had always thought Eddie looked a bit like a puppy, and right now he was channeling his best 'confused, lost puppy' look.

""I'm just saying," Eddie continued, "you know exchanging saliva is basically the recipe for getting AIDS, right?"

"Good thing I didn't. I'd rather eat shit."

Eddie stopped walking, looking straight at Richie. _Fuck, no, not the puppy eyes. Don't give me the puppy eyes._

"So what they were saying about you, it's bullshit, right?" Eddie asked. His voice had gone soft.

"Yeah, gross," he pulled a face with more disgust he thought he could even muster himself. "It's true what they say about me and your mom though."

"Shut _up_, Richie."

It sounded different than usual. More distracted. Eddie was looking down at his sneakers as they strolled further along the sidewalk, a light frown on his face.

"Why are you asking?" Richie asked, his heart hammering loudly.

A shrug from Eddie. Those brown, stupid fucking puppy dog eyes staring back at him. For a good few seconds, Richie forgot he was supposed to be walking. He just stared at his friend like a dumb idiot, then some more, and fucking damn it, he succumbed. _Okay, universe, I give up. You've done it. Fucking bravo. I'm going to make a complete ass of myself in front of my best friend. Here I go._

"I have to go," Eddie said suddenly and sternly. He still looked like a puppy dog, just a deeply serious and contemplative one, maybe even a little moody. He got ready to hop on his bike. "Guess I'll see you around."

"No, Eddie, wait!" But Eddie was already on his way, in a seemingly bigger hurry than he was used to from him.

-

Richie was pedalling as fast as he could. The houses in Derry became a bit dingier and spookier the nearer you got to the Barrens. The walls were more grey and dreary, the curtains more ragged. Or maybe that was just his imagination. Or maybe it was that clown-with-a-taste-for-virgins his friends had all been talking about. A shiver went over his spine. Whatever. Some ridiculous clown was the least of his worries right now. He had to find Eddie.

He hadn't been home, and even if Eddie's mother was a lying bitch, he had believed her. With a shrill voice, she'd told him to get Eddie home straight away if he'd see him. For over two hours, Richie had been cycling round the neighbourhood looking for his friend. It was nothing like him to be out on his own for so long. Why did the little shit decide to drop off the radar just as Richie really needed to talk to him? He started pedalling faster.

It was the end of the evening already, and the streets were cast in a dreamy yellow, the last sunbeams warming his face. At least it made the Barrens look less threatening as he raced into it, the ground bumpy underneath his wheels, his glasses shaking a little. The leaves above his head were slowly rocking in the wind, making swishy sounds. He tried not to look around, ignoring the trees he cycled past, where some clown could potentially be standing.

It was approximately a ten minute cycle to their clubhouse. It already seemed darker as he got off his bike, the sun had disappeared behind the trees and the clubhouse felt still and lifeless now that he was here alone.

"Eddie?" He approached the clubhouse. _Please be here, you dick._ He repeated it a few more times, his voice sounding more shrill each time. "Eddie!"

"I'm not here. Go away." The knot in Richie's stomach dissolved instantly. Thank fuck. He barged towards the clubhouse, practically jumping off the stairs. Eddie was sitting in the hammock, clutching his inhaler, seemingly lost in an elaborate study of the wall.

"What are you doing here?" Richie asked. "I think your mom is ready to kill you when you get back."

"She said that?" A brief flash of panic, before he straightened his face and shrugged. "I mean, I don't care. I'll just… stay here if I have to."

"Dude. You, living in a dirty clubhouse which is basically crawling with diseases?" Richie asked. Eddie frowned ever so slightly. "You won't last here one night without peeing your pants all over the place."

For the first time, Eddie looked him dead in the eye. "Oh, you want to bet?"

"Okay. I guess I'll just go home then. Have fun in your stinky bacteria paradise!" Richie turned his back on him, but he hadn't set one foot before he heard the reply, which came in a voice so tiny and thin he almost hadn't heard it.

"Please stay?"

"Hey, do you smell that?" Richie sniffed. "Is that pussy? Am I smelling your pussy right now?"

"Shut up…" Eddie mumbled, but he was biting his lip to hide his smile. Or maybe that was just Richie's imagination. Or that clown, messing with his perception. Definitely the clown.

For the rest of the night, they took out each and every board game the Loser's had lying around in the clubhouse. Operation Game, Frustration Game, Battleships, Yahtzee, Scrabble… Richie persevered in his plea that 'shitstain' was an official word, Eddie flat-out refusing to believe the dictionary would have such an unsanitary word in it.

They fought over the dice during Frustration Game, trying to fetch it out of each other's hands, their arms and hands touching on and off, on and off, on and off, and each time they did, it was like the electrified wires of the Operation Game were real, giving Richie electric shocks that shot from his head to his toes.

They didn't mind about the dark settling in, the clubhouse becoming increasingly shadier, until it was completely dark and they had to dust off a battery desk lamp. In the light of that little bulb, in this little space that only seemed to contain the two of them, the outside world had fallen away. Neither Richie or Eddie brought up their parents, the clown, or even the other Losers. And whatever had happened between them this afternoon, how close they had come to wearing this thing that was buzzing between them on their sleeves, had been left in the broad daylight. Here it was only them, their games, and their arms and hands, never taking long before finding their way back to each other, before they would just not let go anymore. In the light of that bulb, holding Eddie's hand didn't seem so strange. They were still holding hands as they stood up to go find sleeping bags.

"You sure you want to be holding my hand?" Richie scoffed. Blood was swishing through his ears. His heart was pumping around like a maniac. "Because…. you know our sweat is mixing bacteria right now, right? Next thing you know we could be…"

Eddie leant forward in a snap second and pressed his lips firmly on Richie's. It was only a few seconds, over before he knew it, but while their lips were on each other, it was like everything froze.

"Wow," Eddie broke the silence. "Was that okay? I didn't want to use saliva, so I thought I'd try lips first, just to be safe…"

Before he could change his mind, Richie closed his eyes and dove straight in, parting Eddie's lips with his. Surprisingly, Eddie did not even pull back. He leant into it so eagerly he would have almost climbed into Richie if he could have. For a solid five minutes, all they did was stand there and tried to figure out this kissing thing, hands frantically clutching each other's shirts.

"Okay, just reminding you, I _do_ need to breathe, Richie" Eddie said while breaking away for a second, "Don't forget I have asthma."

"Do you _want_ to be kissing or not?"

They kissed a bit more lying down on their sleeping bags, propped up on their sides. Their hands were carefully, lightly treading the other's back, neck, and arms. He even stroked Eddie's hair a couple of times. It had to be way past midnight, but Richie did not even think about going to sleep. This had to be the best pastime there was, it even beat tickling his pickle. Why did they even bother playing games when they could have been doing this all night? Why did they ever do anything else? Eventually though, they did get tired.

"Do you think we can keep doing this?" Eddie asked sleepily. They were lying right next each other, shoulders touching, Eddie's leg slumped over Richie's. Neither of them had bothered going into their separate sleeping bags.

"Do you want to?"

Even in the dark, Richie could feel Eddie nodding his head vigorously.

"I guess so. We just have to be careful."

"Will the clown come after us more now?"

_Not what I meant_, Richie thought. "I'm not scared of some fucking clown. Besides, I'm not a virgin, remember? I'm immune."

"It could be from an entirely different universe, Richie. It could have a totally different immune system."

"What?" Richie frowned.

"You don't know about other universes? It's a scientific theory that says there's more universes. So there could be like, a million other versions of ourselves in other universes."

"So there's a universe where you're not such a nerd?"

Eddie actually giggled, softly, and playfully kicked his leg. It was the last sound Richie heard before drifting off into sleep. And his last thought? That he was really glad he was here in this universe. With this Eddie.

Pennywise had left them alone that night, but morning came, and with that came everything else. Just a day after, they faced the monster in the house on Neibolt Street, and Eddie was grounded for weeks. They were some of the most frustrating, blue-balled weeks of Richie's life. Then after finally defeating that evil fucking clown and going their separate ways on their last afternoon as a group, Richie's skin brimmed with electricity as they hugged each other awkwardly. Letting go of Eddie's arm felt like the air going dead, a massive power cut, except in his nerves. He hated seeing Eddie walk away, but he assumed they would be seeing each other all the time. Summer may have ended, but that didn't mean things had to change, right?

In the weeks to come, things got worse with Eddie's mom. She would forbid him from seeing anyone after school. At first, Eddie didn't listen, and Richie managed to get some moments alone with him. There were a few more stolen moments, stolen kisses in the clubhouse. But there was always a hurry, a feeling that something worse than a clown was breathing down their necks. Then one day, his mom was there to pick him up straight after school, already having loaded up his bike. Eddie shot Richie an apologetic glance before he got shoved in the car. Eddie's mom shot him a glance, too, and it contained more hatred and contempt than he had ever seen in even Henry Bowers.

It was like that every day from that day on, and their moments alone were over. Now all that was left was their time together in school, sitting next to each other, the space between their tables feeling like a gaping hole. There were the moments when they would walk from class to class, the breaks, their arms always close enough for Richie's hairs to stand up. The staring eyes and whispering voices, whether real or imagined, prevented them from just taking it into the toilet. That was the last place where Eddie wanted to make out anyway. The staring eyes and whispering voices, whether real or imagined, prevented them from just taking it into the toilet. That was the last place where Eddie wanted to make out anyway.

Then one day, that was gone, too. Eddie had stopped showing all-together, and going to his house, banging on the door and windows, did not do a thing. It was empty. Just dead air.

Two weeks later, his mom briskly shoved an envelope into his hands. "This came for you." Even the frantic handwriting of his address was unmistakably recognizable to Richie.

_richie, i'm writign this quick so mom doesn't see. my mom took me out of school and made us move to some stupid town in new york. i couldn't say goodbye i'm so sorry richie. -E._

Richie had no choice but to stay in Derry. He had met some other people that he got along with, got a lot closer to Beverly, and he got by okay. But as soon as his dad got offered a job at a dentistry in another town, far away from Derry, he was relieved. He was glad to see the back of that shithole. Glad to see the end of it all. Except that, of course, it wasn't.


	2. Chapter 2: A Night in the Motel

_7 years later._

Mike's was a voice from a distant past that he didn't remember all the details about. But a sense of dread and intensity filled him. Old feelings, catapulted back into the present. He hurled.

The strange thing was, he'd forgotten what it was that Mike called about. But that didn't matter. He may not exactly know what he was driving to, or if he even wanted to know, but the force that was pulling him to Derry was stronger than memory. It was like an old instinct that had been buried and had instantly been switched back on. Memory or not, he had to go. Yet, as he was driving on his way to Derry, the fuzzy memories were slowly coming back to him. First, he pictured his old house, where he could often see his mom sitting in front of the little tv as he came in from school. His small room with ragged posters. Cycling through the streets, past the Barrens and the kissing bridge, the swishing leaves above his head. His friends and the afternoons spent in the clubhouse. The arcade and his endless afternoons of playing Street Fighter.

"_Is that how you wanna spend your summer? Inside an arcade?"_

Another voice from that same distant past. He smirked. There had been a time, long ago, when he'd done anything to block that voice out of his head. It had taken him a long time to get over that little shit. He had probably been sixteen when he'd tried again with another boy from school, and then at nineteen there had been a slick-haired boy he met during open mic nights. But whatever they'd done to each other after the show ended, it was like their entire relationship had been backstage. When that guy eventually dumped his ass to leave for the big city, planning on chasing both his dreams and big city boys, Richie did not blame him.

There had been other men, in toilets and cheap motel rooms, for an hour, a night, before he swore he would quit once and for all. When his parents started asking him when he would bring home a girl, or get his life together, he'd then tried it with women. He had been in two relationships, both of which had ended pretty much the same way. It was like Richie was unable to move beyond a certain point in a relationship. As soon as the subject of 'moving in together' even came up, he'd brushed it aside, until it could no longer be brushed aside. It suited him fine. He didn't mind being on his own.

Anyway, Eddie? He was totally over that guy. After driving for a couple more hours, he finally arrived back home sweet home: Derry. There was the same welcoming sign, the same bleak roads, even the buildings still seemed in the same state of decay. It was like time had stood still here. The first people he spotted were Ben and Beverly, hugging each other outside the restaurant like the bunch of softies they were. He grinned to himself. Despite how different they looked, (especially Ben) seeing and greeting them felt instantly familiar. _Right. This should be easy,_ he thought, as he stepped foot inside the restaurant, ignoring his slightly increasing heart rate.

"Are we sure we're in the right place, is this Derry? Was it always this fancy in here?" he comments as he studies the nicely decorated interior with its oriental ornaments.

"Looks pretty decent", Ben agreed.

"Right this way, guys", Beverly smiled.

In reality, the walk from the entrance to their dining room probably took about 30 seconds. It felt like an eternity to Richie. Restless legs. Probably from the long drive. He tried loosening up his muscles a little, until he came to an abrupt stop.

There, behind the table, stood three people he instantly recognized. But Richie could only see one. The sight of him knocked the breathing out of him. His knees felt like they had turned into mush, his palms were clammy, his heart suddenly going into overdrive.

Eddie.

Turns out, no amount of years of being over him could have prepared him for seeing those brown puppy eyes, completely as they were 27 years ago. As if he'd last looked into them yesterday, as they parted ways on their bikes after a night at the clubhouse. He might have been a grown-ass dude now, and he no longer had that smooth-skinned babyface. He was still Eddie.

_Fuck._

Well, there was only one way to respond to this: he had to get absolutely shit-faced. And that's exactly what he did for the rest of the evening, as he caught up with everyone and chatted and joked away. When he heard Eddie was now married to a woman, he quickly knocked back another glass of whiskey.

Eddie being married (to a woman!) wasn't the only unpleasant surprise of the evening. The news about Stanley and the fact they had to go up against that fucking clown again, was enough to make them want to hurl again. Things had quieted down after midnight, everyone trying to catch some sleep, most likely in vain. Richie was lying on his hotel bed, staring up at the ceiling. He definitely couldn't sleep right now, not knowing Eddie was only a few rooms over. He got his phone from the nightstand and opened the Facebook app, seeing if anyone had left any comments on the official Richie Tozier Facebook page. But then he remembered. _Oh yeah, my last show didn't go so well, did it._ After scrolling through some comments of a few people expressing their disappointment in the cancellation of the next couple of shows, he felt tempted to just chuck the phone out of the window. This was not helping. He needed to get another drink.

Ignoring his already throbbing head, he made his way down to the bar. Thankfully, no one was down here. He walked up to the bar and poured himself another drink. This day had really taken it out of him, and it hit him all at once as he sat down. He closed his eyes rubbed his temples. Of all the images swimming in his mind, projecting on the insides of his eyelids, there was one image that he could just not let go of.

"Got room for one more drinker?"

Richie flinched. It was Eddie who had come in, hands buried deeply in the pockets of his red jacket. There was something overwhelmingly familiar about the way he stood there.

"Oh, it's you. Thought you were the clown. Bummer, at least he seems kind of wild to hang out with." They stared at each other a few seconds.

"You think you're really fucking funny, don't you?" Eddie snapped.

"Hey, at least my fans do." Richie shrugged and took a gulp of his whiskey, keeping his gaze fixed on the other man.

"You don't even write your own stuff, dude. Quit being so fucking smug."

Richie couldn't supress a smirk. Eddie smirked, too, as he sunk down in the seat across him.

"So you couldn't sleep either, huh?" Richie tried to hold his composure steady and cool, despite having shaky knees and hands.

"I could practically _feel_ the bedbugs and the bacteria crawling over me," Eddie said.

"You've slept in worse places," Richie answered, after which he immediately wanted to hit himself in the face.

A short silence fell, which Richie used to grab two glasses of and pour whiskey in them until they almost spilled over.

"Thanks." Eddie managed a little smile, as Richie put down a glass for him. And that was all Richie needed. He could do this. He could sit down with Eddie and have a proper conversation. At first, they brought back memories, the memories that were no longer tainted now they were together. Different memories than the ones they shared in the group. And they talked about everything. All the time they missed. And there was no dead air between them anymore. Eddie asked him about every aspect of his life, and Richie, too, wanted to know everything there was to know. Did he have kids? Did he like his job? It was different with the two of them. They didn't have to hold back about, well, most things. He even scraped up enough courage to ask for a picture of Eddie's wife.

Eddie eyed him. "My _wife?_ That's what you're interested in right now?"

"C'mon man, I want to see your type." The thought of Eddie being married felt like someone squeezed and squished his intestines with their bare hands. But he was drunk and he wanted to see. Needed to see the person Eddie ended up spending his life with, who he will continue to spend his life with.

Shaking his head in disbelief, Eddie slid his phone to him on the table, his face red, eyes on the table.

"Wow, look at that", Richie managed to say dryly after seeing the picture of the chubby faced blonde woman. Then he giggles.

Another deadly look by Eddie. "What's so fucking funny?"

"Looks like _both_ of us got down and dirty with your mom, man." No matter how Eddie tried to look offended, it didn't last very long. They both burst out laughing, the buzz of the alcohol and the craziness of the evening giving them uncontrollable giggles. It took a while before their giggles had died down, and their booth, the whole bar, filled up with something heavy.

"Richie, listen…" Eddie frowned and stared at his hands, clasped around his glass. "I wanted to get in touch with you, believe me."

"It's okay, Eddie." Richie waved his hand dismissively. "You don't need to do this. We're cool, okay?" He managed a smile.

"Just let me say this," Eddie continued, holding up his hands. "It's all I'm gonna say."

"Fine", Richie said with a sigh.

"One afternoon when I came home, after hanging out with you, my mom was acting really weird."

"You mean, weirder than usual?"

Eddie gave him a look. "She said someone had seen us. Wouldn't say who. We must have been holding hands walking out of the woods or something. Fuck, we always felt like no one could see us there. But even there, we weren't safe. I don't even think it was Pennywise. It's this place, man. This place…" he shook his head, "really stinks."

"Tell me about it. Jesus, Eddie." Richie let his hand fall onto the table, making a louder bang than he'd meant.

"You know what Mike said? About your mind getting all foggy after leaving Derry?"

Richie nodded.

"That's what happened to me, man. That whole fucking clown business - it must have fucked with all my memories. But now that we're all here, it's not like that anymore."

Richie looks at him. _How much do you remember?_

Then some panicky realization seems to hit Eddie's face. "Shit, you don't think whatever's in Derry, changing our memories, is in us? Like, some kind of supernatural parasite that's eating away at our brains?"

"What? No, man. Although, you did become a risk analyst, so maybe all it did was like, suck out your soul or something. No biggie."

But Eddie was beyond joking, in a mental place where humour temporarily couldn't reach him. "Richie, I can't be fighting this thing if my brain is practically…"

"Hey." Richie grabbed his arm. "Relax, Spaghetti! There is nothing wrong with your brain, you're fiiiiine. You're more than fine. Come on." Eddie looked at him. "I'm gonna get another drink. You're really killing the mood here, Eds." He gave him a light slap against his shoulder as he got up.

And he thought he could hear Eddie mutter under his breath: "You're the one who brought up my _wife._ Talk about killing the mood."

"What?" Richie asked loudly, steadying himself against the bar.

"What?" Eddie blinked up at him.

"What'd you - what'd you just say about your wife?"

"Nothing. Forget it." Eddie's eyes are fixed on the table, eyebrows so low they could almost be touching his nose.

"You're full of shit, Spaghetti", Richie mumbled, as he poured more whiskey. As soon as he'd finished pouring, Eddie sloshed it down in half a second, leaving Richie to stare in surprise.

"Yeez, are you sure your tiny little body can handle all that booze?"

"Shut the fuck up, Richie." Eddie shoved him playfully.

And then their arms were touching again, Eddie's hand slowly sliding down his arm, their fingers only inches away from each other. Slightly shaking, Richie's brushed over Eddie's, and it was different from when they'd touched hands during dinner with their friends, here in the privacy of the empty bar. Tiny jolts of electricity vibrated through his skin. His hand lingered there a moment.

Richie pulled back his fingers, not looking at the man in front of him. He could not deal with the puppy dog eyes right now. "We should get some sleep. Best not to be hungover and sleep deprived while fighting a monster clown tomorrow, right?"

"Come on, Richie. Stay for a bit." Eddie said.

If he didn't tear his eyes away from him now, he would never leave. "Goodnight, Eddie."

Back in his room, he buried his head beneath his pillow, trying not to scream. He punched the mattress a few times. It was better this way. Eddie was married (to a woman!), and he needed to get a fucking grip. He should just go to sleep, or go home and be killed by a clown, and it would all go away. To have that feeling that he wanted to scream be taken away. That actually seemed like the easiest option right now.

Maybe half an hour went by, maybe longer, but a knock on the door disturbed him. Apprehensively he looked at the door. He was well aware this could be IT, giving him one more nightmare show. He couldn't even entertain the idea of the alternative.

"Richie, it's me."

His heart stopped, and then started beating in overdrive as he approached the door.

Eddie's eyes were pleading as he opened the door. "Can I come in for a minute?"

"If you're having any nightmares, I feel like I've got to remind you, I'm not your mom."

"Very funny, asshole." And Eddie just walked in, shoulders brushing against Richie's. He started pacing around, his restless energy filling up the room.

"Eddie, sit down, man. You're making _me_ nervous." The bed creaked as Eddie plopped down on it, and Richie carefully sat down next to him.

"Come on, Eds, talk to Papa."

"Can you be serious for one fucking second, Rich?"

"Okay, okay! Just trying to add some levity, you know me."

Eddie sighed. "What is this, Richie? So what, we're going to go home and just forget everything again?" Richie felt Eddie's eyes boring into him.

"Fuck knows. Maybe," he answered honestly. "There's no way to know for sure until we beat this fucking thing." They sat so close together their knees and arms were resting against each other.

"Do you think things will be different when we go back?" In the dark of the room, Eddie's eyes seemed like black holes sucking him in, holding the promise of more depth than you could possibly guess.

"Why, do you want them to be different?"

"I don't know..." Eddie's gaze wandered off to the floor, then he added quietly. "Maybe?"

Richie swallowed.

"Do you?" Eddie asked, his eyes suddenly back at him, burning through him. Richie swallowed more, his throat feeling dry.

"What are you saying, Eds?"

But with the way Eddie looked at him, he felt like he knew. His friend had started slowly leaning into him, and by now his heart was pounding so loud he couldn't even hear his own voice as he said the only word that was on his mind.

"Eddie…"

And Eddie pressed his mouth on his. Firmly, needily. He tasted like alcohol, but it didn't matter. His hands roamed, wanting to cover all things Eddie. His red jacket. The nape of his neck. His hair.

"Not so worried about your asthma anymore, are you?" Richie grumbled.

"Shut up," Eddie kissed him more.

As soon as they hit the bed, Richie felt dizzy in his head. His mind was trying to process it all: just yesterday Eddie had been just a faint memory, and now he was suddenly here, palpable, in his hands and very much real, encompassing him completely.

For a moment, he was thirteen again, lying on a sleeping bag in the clubhouse, bursting with excitement to finally be kissing the boy he'd been wanting to kiss forever.

It was Eddie's lips that brought him back to the present. Richie deepened their kiss, in relief. This was real, this now, this was happening. It really was Eddie he was kissing in the dark, his weight on top of him. Eddie's knee positioned awkwardly near his crotch. Eddie's hands in his neck. It was Eddie's shirt he slid up, his back he was roaming with his hands. Eddie's chest on his, his hands exploring him. Eddie's face cupped with his hands. Eddie's voice, hoarsely whispering his name. Eddie, trembling in his arms.

"It's okay", he said, stroking the back of other man's head. "You're all right."

Their arms and legs were intertwined as they fell asleep. Eddie's nose buried deep into Richie's neck. Richie would have murdered a cow if that meant the sun didn't have to come up today. But morning came, and with that came everything else. First, however, there was breakfast. It was a text from Beverly that woke Richie up, informing him the rest of the Losers were having breakfast downstairs. Was he thinking of coming too, and could he wake Eddie up while he was at it? He couldn't help but smirk. Eddie groaned as Richie playfully tapped against his earlobe, then stroking it lightly.

"Hey Eds," he half-whispered. "Time to wake up."

"Jesus, Rich", Eddie mumbled, eyes still closed, voice sleepy. "Are seriously going to keep calling me Eds? Is that a thing now?"

"What, you don't like nicknames? How is this gonna work if I can't call you nicknames?"

"If I wanted nicknames I'd stay married to my mom."

They snickered softly. Soon the two of them got dressed hastily and after they fixed and fussed around with each other's hair and clothes for a minute, in an attempt to appear as casual as possible, then hurried downstairs to join the others.

Despite having had so little sleep, Richie couldn't remember the last time he been so smiley in the morning. His tread felt that much lighter. And he knew, from looking at Eddie, that it was the same for him.

Of the many ways Richie remembered Eddie, the endless bickering, his ever present inhaler, his frantic puppy eyes, the bravery he showed in his last moments, this was one of Richie's favourite ways to remember him. There was a shine to his eyes that wasn't there before. They were lighter than he'd ever seen them.

-  
Eddie could barely see what was going on in the background of the sewers. He felt himself slipping away, barely even feeling the pain from the spiders leg.

In the middle of it all was Richie, pleading to stay with him, to look at him, please Eddie, Eddie, look at me, and Eddie did.

And then he saw it. Like a pellucid window appearing to only him, washing all the darkness and chaos from his vision, giving him a peak into a brighter place. Just as clearly as Beverly had had a vision all those years ago, that they would come back to fight Pennywise, and just as she had known it was real, he knew what he was seeing, was real, too.

He saw himself avoiding Pennywise's leg. He saw them getting out of there, the house collapsing, Eddie and Richie holding onto each other. He saw them saying goodbye when leaving Derry, but it wasn't a sad goodbye. They were as happy and in love as they could be, and they knew they would meet again in a few days. He saw him sitting in Richie's apartment, Richie putting a cooked meal on the table for him. He saw them kissing on the couch, watching tv, and the next morning, they kissed again to say 'see you soon'. He saw himself dragging all of his stuff from the house to the car, and finally closing the door on his old house, having told his wife goodbye. He saw Richie coming out of his apartment, greeting him with a kiss, helping him unload his stuff from the car. He saw them smiling and laughing with each other as they rearranged the room, putting his stuff in Richie's apartment. He saw himself falling asleep in front of the tv, Richie squeezing his shoulder and smiling. He saw Richie smiling up at him from the breakfast table, telling him good morning. He saw himself sitting front row in the audience at Richie's comedy show. He saw them exchanging glances. He saw Richie kissing him as he got out of his dressing room, facing the press with an arm around him, introducing Eddie as his partner. He saw him driving Richie home in his limo, holding hands and laughing.

He saw it all, until all he could see was just Richie's face, in the dark of the sewer, wild panic written all over it. The others gathered around him, too. Eddie knew what he just saw was real. Somewhere. It just wasn't real here, in this version of reality. So instead of telling Richie everything he knew to be true, he just made a silly old joke. Like they always did. And he focused on Richie's face like he was the anchor keeping him grounded in this life.

Until he didn't see anymore.


End file.
